


a lesson in trust, a lesson in love

by elmshore



Series: a constant satellite of your blazing sun [5]
Category: The Wayhaven Chronicles (Interactive Fiction)
Genre: Alternate Canon, Blindfolds, Blow Jobs, Established Relationship, F/M, Handcuffs, Light Bondage, Other, Porn with Feelings, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, and when i say light bondage i mean light, i think that's everything. i hope it is, listen this got away from me so sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-27
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:01:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26681830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elmshore/pseuds/elmshore
Summary: Cordelia has to go out of town for a week, to take care of a job, but she wants to make sure her and Mason's last night is something to remember during the time apart.
Relationships: Detective/Mason (The Wayhaven Chronicles), Female Detective/Mason (The Wayhaven Chronicles)
Series: a constant satellite of your blazing sun [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1970686
Comments: 18
Kudos: 49





	a lesson in trust, a lesson in love

**Author's Note:**

> I just wanted to say that I know Mishka has previously said that M would not allow themselves to be restrained; it was an ask I'd forgotten about and when I remembered it, I was 8,000 words into this so, I kept going. If this makes you uncomfortable, then I completely understand and will ask that you look after yourself, and don't read. This takes place at a point when Mason and the detective are deep into a relationship, so I'm going off trust being established, but again, it is your discretion and I won't hold it against you if you choose not to read.
> 
> Just please don't comment reminding me of the ask, I know it exists. Thank you!

Strange to think how only a few hours ago, this had seemed like such a fantastic idea.

Cordelia rolls her lips and struggles to breathe — her room is so terribly warm now, the air heavy and charged, filled with an almost overwhelming electrical energy. Desire and anticipation mingle, creating an intoxicating fever. And yet, despite this, still she shivers. 

A chill creeps over her as goosebumps prick at her flesh, running along her bare arms and legs. She wills her heart, beating so hard she fears it might burst, to relax as the realization of just what she has gotten herself into hits her.

Why, oh why, did she think this would be a good idea? Sure, she would be leaving tomorrow morning for a week-long trip out of Wayhaven, but there had to be other ways of spending their night together that weren’t quite so… nerve wracking.

Bouncing from one foot to the other, she draws in a shaky breath. Cordelia knows how foolish she must look, standing here in the middle of her room, rooted to the spot while dressed so… provocatively. The lingerie is new, a lovely little baby doll nightgown made of silk and adorned with lace. It leaves little to the imagination — stopping at the top of her thighs and splitting open at the side, to offer a little peek at the matching underwear below — and oh, it feels wonderful against her skin, smooth and delicate.

She had been a bit worried, at first, concerning the color — red, on a _redhead_? — but the hue is darker, closer to a maroon, and, if she is allowed a moment of vanity, looks quite lovely when paired with her fair complexion. 

The outfit had been a spur of the moment purchase, egged on by Tina during their last shopping trip about a month ago, and up until this evening, had sat hidden away in the back of her closet. Waiting, it seems, for just the right time.

Well, better late than never, right?

“You okay over there, sweetheart?”

Her gaze snaps toward the bed, throat going dry at the sight that greets her. Oh, yes, her _idea_ . If someone had told her only, say, a year ago that she would have a very powerful, very _attractive_ vampire, naked and handcuffed, in her bed, Cordelia is sure she would have laughed herself silly; blushing the whole time, of course.

Well, she’s certainly not laughing now.

Mason is watching her, those storm-gray eyes shining in the dim light and filled with an all too familiar hunger. He is completely nude, back propped lazily up against the headrest of her bed and arms raised slightly — enough to be out of the way but not so high as to be uncomfortable. Around each wrist sits a pair of silver handcuffs, attached securely to the bedposts. A gift from Felix, who had assured her with a wink and extremely knowing look that they were designed _specifically_ with a vampire’s strength in mind.

A flush coats her cheeks and crawls down her neck at the memory, the urge to cover her face making her fingers twitch. Something tells her that after tonight, she might not be able to face the other woman for a while… or ever.

“Cordelia?”

His voice pulls her back to the present and she blinks, eyes focusing on him and immediately, all thoughts of Felix vanish from her mind. _Say something_ , a voice in the back of her head demands, and so she tries to smile and oh yes, her heart is definitely going to burst before this night is over with.

“Right, yes, I’m okay!” She manages, clearly _not_ okay, and forces herself to move, one foot in front of the other, until she is next to the bed. Clasps her hands together and studies his face. “Are _you_ okay? With this, I mean? I know you were a bit hesitant, with the handcuffs and all, we don’t have to do this, we can — ” 

Mason scoffs, a harsh sound that cuts her off. “Wouldn’t have agreed to do this if I didn’t want to, sweetheart. Besides, how can I turn back now, when you’ve gotten all dressed up for me?” His eyes slide over her figure, tongue dragging across his bottom lip, and an entirely different heat rushes through her, a fire sparking to life in her belly. 

Then, his eyes are on hers again and he looks softer now, somehow. “Trust me, sweetheart, I want to do this.”

Relief spills into her, fills all of the uncertain nooks and crannies, and she nods, a bit of the tension leaking out of her. When she smiles again, the expression is steadier. “Okay, if you’re sure.” She turns, toward her nightstand, and reaches for the strip of cloth lying there. The blindfold is soft, light and breathable, and she hopes it won’t be too much for him. 

“Ready?”

“Always, sweetheart.” He sounds so sure, confidence evident in every word, and she leans into it, lets some of it bleed into her. There is a strength to him, one of mind and soul, and she is drawn to it, craving it as she does air to breathe.

Lifting a leg, she climbs onto the bed and he spreads his own, to give her better access. She settles herself before them, scoots forward, and leans toward him. Gives him a quick kiss, sweet and chaste, before she begins to tie the blindfold into place around his eyes. “Is this okay? It’s not too tight, is it?” Her fingers linger near the knot, ready to loosen it if need be.

“You really have got to stop worrying so much, Starlight,” he huffs and then his head tilts, back and forth, as if adjusting to the lack of sight. “I’m a big boy, I’ll be fine,” he says, lips splitting into a wolfish grin before he adds, “more than fine, once the fun starts.” 

She rolls her eyes and sits back, giving herself a chance to simply bask in the sight of him. Would be a fool not to, really.

He truly is gorgeous, her Mason — lean and toned, all sleek muscles and sharp lines, looking every bit the predator she knows he is. Reminds her of something straight out of a myth, divine and far above her mortal reach. Tanned skin gleaming in the soft glow of her lights, littered with freckles; starbursts and constellations decorating his form. 

Cordelia knows them well, has tasted and traced each one, could draw them from memory alone, if need be.

Black hair falls to his shoulders in a messy halo and she brushes a stray lock out of his face, lets it linger between her fingers and marvels at the softness. But of course, he is soft in so many ways, both big and small — hidden, reserved for her alone. It is a piece of himself that he shares only with her, a closely guarded secret that she has been allowed to know and one that she will always cherish, keeps it locked safely away within her.

She lays her hand against his cheek, cups it gently, and feels her heart swell when he leans into the touch, mouth parting in contentment, a quiet sound rising from his throat. It means more than she will ever be able to put into words, this trust that he has placed in her hands — to allow himself to be made vulnerable, at her mercy — and all she can do is hope that she is worthy of it, in the end.

Will spend the rest of her very long life trying to be, if she has to.

Runs a thumb over his lips, feels him inhale, silent and quick, and lets her hand glide down. Curls it around the back of his neck and closes the distance between them. The kiss is sweet at first, a tentative first taste — one final check, in a way, to see if he will accept this, to make sure that he wants this as much as she does. 

His lips part and she has her answer. Takes his invitation and runs with it, gives herself over fully to the desire coiling inside of her.

A tongue slicks over her own, smooth as honey, and she drinks in the flavor of him — dark and rich, earthen and enticing in a way that pulls her in deeper, a nectar which leaves her dizzy and drunk on the taste. There is a hint of smoke, a barely there whisper, and it burns in the most delicious of ways. He still smokes, she knows, on the rare occasions they cannot be together.

 _Hardly need’em, when you’re here, sweetheart_ , he told her once, while they lay entangled in his sheets, serene and half-asleep, in the quiet of the darkness. Even now, it hits her just as hard; that she can be the one to bring him such comfort, simply by being with him. 

Does he, she wonders, know that he offers her the same? That with him, she feels safe enough to let down her walls, to be her true self? She thinks he does, in his own way. Mason knows her better than she knows herself, after all. They are quite a pair, two halves of a whole, and she is thankful everyday that the universe deemed her worthy of him.

She tugs his bottom lip between her teeth, nibbles at it, and is rewarded with a delightful little growl, one that ripples over her skin and has her shivering, flushed and aching. Breaks the kiss and trails her mouth over his jaw, down to his throat, and gives the tender flesh there a small bite, enjoying the way he curses. Idles, sucking a mark into the spot that will not last, and hears the handcuffs rattle as he shifts under her touch. Pauses and waits, to see if they will hold, and it is only after she is sure that they will fulfill their intended task that she continues her pilgrimage.

Scoots back, only a tad, and lets her mouth travel further down. Maps an erratic pathway of wet kisses over his pulse, tongue licking a stripe across it — feels it jump, racing at her attention — and then lower. Embarks on an odyssey along his body, making sure not to miss a single freckle; lavishes each and every one she comes across, like catching stars between her teeth.

Lingers at the crystal, never removed and a familiar friend, and lets her lips ghost over it, grinning at the way he shivers.

When her tongue drags across his nipple, the curse is louder this time and a dull _thud_ causes her to look up. His head is tilted back, angled up toward the ceiling and pressed against the headrest, and she smirks. Does it again and this time, his hands clench, forming fists as the muscles in his arms bulge. 

Of course she knows how sensitive he is, hyper-senses stronger than the rest, and normally, she tries to be careful with them — it’s why there are strands of fairy lights strung around her room, soft and twinkling, if not a bit ironic now. And why blackout curtains can now be found all through her apartment, save for the small window in her kitchen (reserved for Galileo). Little changes, in the grand scheme of things, but each done for his comfort.

To ensure that he feels safe and at ease, maybe even at home.

And yet, just for tonight, she thinks it might be fun to tease him, if only a little.

Rests her hands atop his legs, feels them twitch at the contact, and slides them up, slow and precise. Keeps her touch light, teasing. She pulls back and watches his face, the way he bites his lips then darts his tongue out to wet them. Catches the little furrow between his brow, drawn and pinched, as he fights to keep control of his reactions.

Stops when she reaches the crease where his leg meets the body. Her hands slip down, fingers curling into his inner thighs and lets her nails dance along the warm skin — traces little half-circles, one over the other, and he jumps, actually _jumps_ , at the action. The goal is so close, well within reach, hard and erect, but she waits. 

Draws it out, the way he always does with her; wonders if she can make him beg for it, or if his stubbornness will hold.

Moving, Cordelia unfolds her legs from underneath her and she is on her knees now, back curving as she lowers herself down. Turns her head and places a kiss on the sensitive skin, right where her fingers are, and oh, there is no containing his reaction now. So, she does it once more — hears the clatter of metal, as he strains against the restraints — and gives the spot a little nip.

“Fuck,” he hisses and she doesn’t bother to hide her grin, eyes darting up to see his face.

“So impatient, all things in good time,” she teases, and even with the blindfold on, she can practically _feel_ the glare he is no doubt giving her.

Mason snarls, lips twisting into a somehow endearing scowl. “Careful, sweetheart, that fae blood of yours is starting to show,” he snaps, but there is no malice in his tone, only lust.

She blinks, cocks her head and though he cannot see it, raises a brow in confusion. “And what do you mean by that, exactly?”

“You know what, forget I said anything,” Mason chuckles, legs shifting on either side of her, “you’re awfully close to a few parts I’d like to keep.”

Oh, well, now she _has_ to know. “Mason, I’d never do _anything_ to hurt you like that,” she coos and just to prove her point, lets her hand drift closer to his length, really liking his abrupt intake of breath. “Especially when I still have plans for those, uh, _parts_.”

“And what are those plans, exactly?”

“If I tell you, it won’t be as enjoyable.”

“I beg to differ, sweetheart.”

She frowns, but decides to shelve this discussion for a later time. It’s still quite the shock, knowing that she is not fully human — that half, or more truthfully, of the blood which flows through her veins is fae; magic and light and flame. _You taste of sunshine, of fire and flowers in full bloom, of all things fresh, alive_ , Rory told her once, during her time with him, and while she cannot verify his claim for her own, it lingers in the corners of her mind.

And even while it explains so much, about her and her life to this point, a part of her still struggles with not only the fact itself, but the secrecy of it.

Yet another thing kept from her, more shadows and lies, but if there is any solace to be found, it is that she is not alone this time. For once, she and Rebecca were in the dark together. Her father, the man she has spent nearly her entire life idolizing, took the secret with him to the grave and she knows, were it not for Rory and a centuries old debt, she might never have known. The seal would still be in place and they would, all of them, be none the wiser.

For all that she has tried, Cordelia still isn’t sure if that would be better, or worse.

“You still with me, sweetheart?”

She starts, mind skidding to a screeching halt, and she shakes her head — gathers up all of the thoughts and memories and puts them in a jar, pokes holes in the lid to keep them alive, and then tucks it away on the highest shelf she can reach, to tackle later. Smiles, if only to make herself feel better, and releases a quiet breath.

“Yes, I’m with you.” And she is, will always be here, with him. No matter what.

He hums, obviously hearing the emotional undercurrent in her voice, but leaves it be; will never push or prod at her, lets her come to him, whenever she is ready.

Instead, she returns to her original task. Allows one of her fingers to brush against his cock, featherlight, and his head slams back into the headrest, harder this time, with force enough to create a small crack, one she opts to ignore. For now.

Takes him in hand and strokes, motions gentle yet decisive, firm in her intent. She is in no rush, after all. Already, he is so hard, throbbing and twitching, and with each caress, he only grows more insistent. Cordelia knows how to touch him — has seen him do it to himself, while he drives her to completion, and she is, of course, a _very_ fast learner. 

Is sure to twist her wrist _just so_ on the downward stroke, in a way that has him moaning and the sound makes her lick her lips.

Cordelia swipes a thumb over the head, across the slit, and he groans deeply, hips jerking, bucking into her touch. She is careful, though, and keeps her pace steady, only raising it slowly, lifting up and tipping forward. Her mouth finds his throat, catches the flesh between her teeth, and leaves more marks, all of which she knows will heal in a matter of seconds. Does it again, anyway, and when he whines — _whines!_ — the sound is music to her ears.

Glides her lips upward, skirts the edge of his jawline and reaches his ear, teeth grazing the shell. Hears him growl and oh, the heat inside of her is a storm now, raging through her like a wildfire, consuming every inch of her. It gathers between her legs and her fingers twitch with the desire to touch herself, to give into the pleasure tugging at her. Resists it, for now at least.

Focuses on him, on the little noises he is making and the way he feels in her hand, solid and oh so warm. Her pace increases, his mouth emitting another lovely moan, and she kisses him, claims those lips with her own. It is passion, ravenous and eager, and their tongues entangle in a fight for dominance. Mason tilts toward her, as far as he can manage, and she lifts her other hand. Drags it up, over his stomach and the planes of his chest, curls it around his neck, and tugs herself closer.

Wants to crawl inside of him, make a home out of his body and never leave.

His teeth dig into her bottom lip, sharp enough to sting, and now it is her turn to whine, low and needy. Releases him, hands falling to her sides, and she leans out of the kiss. Observes him, a little spike of pride erupting in her chest at the state he is in now — flushed and breath shallow, lips swollen and wet. 

It strikes her, fully now, that she is responsible for this; that for all his danger and power, he has given himself over to her completely, in this moment. She holds the power and she would be lying, if she said that the thought didn’t give her a high, a rush of adrenaline that could, she thinks, become _very_ addictive, if she lets it.

But, there is no time for that — she has other plans, and she is ready to bring them into play.

With ease, she resumes her earlier position, lowered between his open legs and on her knees, toes pressed into the bed. Places one hand on his leg, uses it to brace herself, and wraps the other around his cock again, fingers curling around the full length. He is tense, shaking so slightly that she thinks it might be her imagination. It isn’t, of course.

Leans down, red hair falling around her like a flaming curtain — berates herself, for not thinking to tie it back earlier, but opts to leave it be, in no mood to stop now over it. Her lips close around the head and the snarl that leaves him is positively filthy.

Cordelia swirls her tongue along the tip and he curses, loud and sharp, urging her onward. Where her mouth does not go, her hand covers, and they work in tandem, leaving no inch of him untouched. He melts under her, no attempt made now to hide his pleasure — no stone masks or walls of indifference, a constant need to always be on guard — and his moans echo throughout the room, primal and keen, mingling with the clattering of metal on wood.

She pauses, to toss a bit of hair over her shoulder, and takes him in even deeper. Relishes the taste of him, the feel and weight of his cock on her tongue — already, the first beads of cum are present and the flavor sends a twang of need thrumming straight to her core. This is still somewhat new territory for her, exciting and a little scary; oh, she’s given head before, but most of her experience lies with other women, and well, the two are in no way mutually exclusive.

It was a rare occurrence with Bobby, but she doubts that any of those times could be considered viable examples; hard to judge one’s skills, when their partner finishes so quickly at the start.

Building her speed, her head bobs up and down as she finds a rhythm, and for a brief moment, she considers unshackling him. Misses the feel of his hands on her, in her hair, fingers entwined through copper locks and his gentle, guiding motions. _Wants_ him to touch her, in that way only he can, winding her up and unraveling her all at once, a rush she has found nowhere else.

“Fucking hell, sweetheart,” he groans, writhing under her, and his voice is rough, heavy with pleasure. When she swallows him further still, almost to the base, he snarls and the sound is animalistic, dark and dangerous, and it leaves her aching, vibrating with desire. She pulls back, his cock slipping out of her mouth with an audible _pop_ and continues to stroke him, relentless in her motions. Runs her tongue over the slit, rolls it around the head, and he jerks violently under her, heels digging into the mattress as his hips buck up, seeking her mouth.

Tilts her head, to the right, and wraps her lips around the side of his cock, traces her mouth along the length of him, from tip to base, then back up again. He whines again, such a rare sound, and oh, his shaking is visible now. Pushing back, she slows her touch and licks her lips, savoring the taste of him still on her tongue.

“You sound so cute,” she purrs and when he only growls, she giggles and pulls her hand away, fingers leaving his cock one at a time, and she tries, truly she does, not to feel _too_ proud at the way his hips rise in an attempt to follow her. “Oh? Well, if you don’t like it…” It is cruel, she knows, to tease him like this, but she cannot help herself — there is a strange sort of thrill, at being the one in control.

She’s never really been allowed to explore such a thing, before Mason; with Bobby, the roles in the bedroom (and, admittedly, outside of it) were always crystal clear: it had been about _his_ pleasure, first and foremost, not hers. Oh, he’d been subtle about it, all charm and sweet words, and like a fool, she fell right into his trap. Never noticed the warning signs, ignored all the little red flags… until she walked in on him with that other girl and suddenly, all at once, every made sense. He never cared about her, only the adoration she could offer him.

Even now, it stings — knowing that she allowed herself to be hurt in that way, that for as much as Bobby shares the blame, it is not his alone to bear; she must carry it upon her shoulders too.

And yet, for as new as it is, it is fun. Being allowed to explore a side of herself she never even knew existed, to have him trust her completely and give her this opportunity. A swath of wants and needs residing within her, hidden away like some shameful secret, until now.

Mason is good at that, she has found; at finding the parts of herself that she has spent so long ignoring, the pieces tucked away in favor of her masks, too afraid that others might see and judge her, or worse, leave her entirely. One by one, he has pulled them out into the open and shown her, in his quiet way, that it is okay.

That he will never leave her.

It is that confidence, the courage he gives her, that has her going all in. Makes her smirk, lean toward him, and ask, “Do you like it? Because if you don’t, we can always stop? Maybe go to bed and — ”

“Sweetheart, there are better things you could be doing with that pretty little mouth of yours, right now,” he pants, desire punctuating every word.

Cordelia hums, plants both hands firmly on the bed beside her, and tilts forward, raising up to brush her lips against his in a ghostly kiss. “Maybe,” she breathes, tongue dragging along his bottom lip, and she waits as he breathes in, quick and sharp, before adding, “but I think I’d like to hear you beg first.”

“Are you serious?” He barks, and she grins at the indignation in his tone. “I never beg, sweetheart.”

Oh, she’ll see about that.

She leaves a kiss, light and promising, on the corner of his mouth. “Never say never, love,” she whispers and then her lips are moving. Chart a course over the nebula of freckles dotting his cheek and lower, along his jawline. Raises her hands from their spot on the bed beside her and presses them against the inside of his legs, nails creeping across the skin in an excruciatingly slow motion.

He starts, muscles jumping under her touch, and swallows, just as her mouth reaches his throat. Cordelia leaves mark after mark, each one healing as quickly as she can make them, and buries herself in the hollow of his neck. Bites down, harder than before, and he swears loudly, head slamming back against the headrest.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he moans, hips moving once more, rising toward her and she feels the tip of his cock skim against her stomach, persistent in it’s need. Her own arousal is just as prominent, coating the inside of her thighs, slick and hot. Sweat gathers on them both, little beads cropping up along their bodies, and when she runs her tongue over the now healing imprint in his skin, she can taste the salt, biting on her tongue. 

“Cordelia — ” his words fall apart, little more than a strangled cry as her hand moves, brushing the tip of his length.

Her touch is light, less than a tease, and she traces a finger over the head, then down, to the base of his cock. Repeats the motions, in reverse. Tilts down, mouth following along his collarbone and then lower, to his chest. Lingers over his heart, long enough to take in the sound, erratic and pounding, before she continues. 

Closes her lips around his nipple, tongue swirling a circle around it, and feels, rather than hears, the rumbling sound that rises within him. Below, she curls an index finger and thumb around the head of his cock and squeezes, just a bit, before gliding down. Strokes him lazily, in no hurry at all, and when he moans, it is quite possibly the loveliest sound she’s ever heard.

Even so, she stops mid-way through and lets her hand drop, delighting in the way he whines yet again, louder this time, making no effort to hide his desperation.

“Cordelia — ” he tries again, stops himself, and swallows any remaining words, throat bobbing as they tumble back down.

A part of her wants to break first, to simply give in and enjoy the pleasure, but she remains steadfast. She is a Watson, after all, and she will not give up so easily. Instead, she takes his nipple between her teeth and tugs, rolling her tongue over it, and his back arches, cuffs clanking against the wood.

“ _Fuck_ , Cordelia, I — ” Mason pauses and there is a weight to his words, more just on the tip of his tongue, and it fills her with an anticipation that leaves her shivering.

She takes pity and pulls back up. Kisses him, their lips sliding together, and when his part, inviting her inside, her pity runs dry. Leans back, instead, and he is left gaping, a noise of protest escaping him. “Tell me,” she demands, soft and oh so quiet, eyes scanning his face, “tell me what you want, Mason.”

“You.” A single word, so simple and unassuming, but it sends a bolt of raw emotion running down her spine. 

And yet, it is not the word she wants to hear.

“Tell me,” she says again, firmer this time, and presses her cheek to his own, lips at his ear. “I want to hear you say it.”

He is silent for so long that she worries she may have pushed too much, gone too far with this little game of hers, but then he speaks, voice rough as a storm.

“ _Please_.”

There has, she thinks, never been a word so beautiful as that. The kiss that follows is almost harsh, consuming and impatient and for a brief time, they breathe as one, until her lungs ache, until she is lost in him. When she finally breaks away, they are both flushed and then she moves, fluid and quick, back into position.

She takes him back into her mouth and his groan is so loud she wonders if the neighbors can hear it, only to decide she doesn’t care. Better a few nosy neighbors than a warehouse full of supernaturals, at least.

Keeping one hand braced atop his leg, Cordelia slips the other down, between her legs and past the hem of her underwear, no longer able to deny the lure of her own desire. Dips two fingers between her wet folds and now she is moaning, heady and high, every nerve in her body buzzing with pleasure.

“Touching yourself, sweetheart?”

Of course he would know, a little voice in the back of her head says; he never misses anything, her Mason.

She hums, mouth full of him, and swirls her tongue over the head, earning herself another buck of his hips. Uses her hand to press down and she doesn’t know the strength to hold him still, fae-blood or no, but he acquiesces to her silent command, for now.

“Bet you’re wet, aren’t you? Dripping all over your fingers,” he moans and she dares a glance up, watching as his tongue darts out, tracing across his bottom lip. “Do you like having my cock in that pretty little mouth of yours?”

Another hum, louder this time, and she slips another finger in. Drags it between the folds, circles her clit, and feels her legs quiver as a familiar sensation, something tight and sharp, coils deep in her belly. She imagines that the fingers are his own, long and nimble, and lets out a quiet whine. It is so easy to picture, Mason on his knees, hands and mouth working together to drive her to her own completion.

He snarls, arms straining against the constraints, and purrs, “I can smell you.” His tone is dark, sending a shiver coursing through her, and he adds, “I’ll tell you what I want, sweetheart. I want you to fuck yourself.”

Cordelia whimpers, thumb rolling over her clit, and spreads her legs, knocking against his own. Slides both fingers inside, body offering no resistance, and sheathes them up to the knuckle. This, at least, is familiar; something she has done plenty of times before, on long and lonely nights, and so there is no build-up, no need to get settled.

Her fingers crook upward, splay out, and the fire in her veins roars, turning her blood molten. She never wavers in her motions, works him steadily, mouth moving with a fervor that surprises even herself and it is harder, now, to keep the pace from building too quickly.

“That’s it, sweetheart, keep going,” Mason croons, and oh, how she wishes he could touch her right now — wants to feel him on her, those skillful hands on her body and that clever mouth at her cunt, driving her into a frenzy only he can achieve. 

A third finger slips inside and she knows they are both close now, feels it in the way that sensation grows stronger, fiery and tight, and how with every lap of her tongue, his cock twitches. Already, he is giving her a taste of what is to come, the tang of his arousal sending little shockwaves rippling along her nerves.

“Fuck, that’s it, so fucking good,” he praises and the words are euphoric, a rush like nothing she has ever felt. She loves this, knowing that she can make him feel just as good as he makes her feel, that she can take this powerful man and undo him.

Mason snarls and she hears a loud _crack!_ , looks up to see his hand fisted around the now splintered bedpost. Considers scolding him, for breaking it, but then he speaks again, “oh, that’s it, good girl,” and her mind short circuits. This time, she is the one who shatters, orgasm crashing into her like a wrecking ball and she goes tense, bright little spots dancing behind her eyelids. Distantly — barely — registers Mason talking, his words little more than a low static.

Her arm aches, sore from the angle and the constant motion, but still, she maintains her speed; fucks herself through the rush.

She is only beginning to come down from her high, body shaking and mind a haze, when she hears him curse. Has only a split second to realize what is happening before he too breaks, rising from the bed and his seed spills onto her tongue, sharp and bitter. The sound of her name reaches her ears, said over and over, broken and soft. Cordelia swallows, all that she can, and then slowly, lifts her head. 

Raises up and wraps her other hand around his cock — still hard, no doubt thanks to that infamous vampire stamina — and strokes, timing it with the fingers still lazily pleasuring herself. He sinks back onto the bed, head tilted back and panting, lips parted. She tilts forward, her touch steady, and kisses him, wants him to taste himself. Mason responds greedily, tongue sliding over her own, and his groan reverberates inside of her like a tremor. 

Cordelia pulls back, mouth inches from his own, and says, “I want you inside of me.”

“Yes, fuck,” he whines and tips forward, tries to kiss her again, but she only leans away and out of his limited reach, causing him to snarl. “Fuck, sweetheart, _please_ ,” he pleads and oh, how she could get used to hearing him say that.

Lifts the hand still slick with her own pleasure and lays a finger at his lips. They part and he takes it into his mouth, licking her clean, and her breath turns shallow, pulse spiking and heart racing. She offers him another, and then one more, and each is taken eagerly, tongue catching every last drop. When he is done, she kisses him yet again, unable to resist, and now their flavors are mingled, interwoven in a way that leaves her drunk.

He pulls out of the kiss and whispers, “Let me see you, Starlight,” and who is she, to deny such a request?

Carefully, she removes the blindfold and tosses it off to the side, where it tumbles to the floor without a care. He blinks, adjusting to the light, and when he focuses on her, she very nearly forgets how to breathe. Those beautiful gray eyes are nearly black, pupils blown wide and the emotions contained within are too strong, a fearsome maelstrom threatening to pull her under the surface.

Lust and desire and _love_ , fierce and bright.

She leans forward, brings their foreheads together, and for a moment, they simply exist together, breathing in and out. Then, he grins, and murmurs, “Now then, beautiful, you said something about having me inside of you? I seem to recall asking nicely.”

Laughing, she pulls back and drops her hands to his shoulder. “You did ask nicely, that’s true,” she admits, only to blink and gives the handcuffs a quick glance. “Should I take those off too?”

Mason seems to ponder the offer for a moment and then shakes his head, grin turning sharper. “Nah, let’s keep them on, see how it goes.”

“Something tells me you might be coming around to the idea of being tied up,” she teases and, keeping one hand planted firmly on his shoulder, leans to her right, toward the little nightstand. 

“Only if it’s you doing the tying, sweetheart.”

Rolling her eyes, she yanks open the drawer and shuffles around inside, fingers quickly finding the small stack of condoms she’s learned to keep stashed there — a necessary precaution, when this particular vampire is involved — and goal achieved, closes the drawer and settles back into position.

She tears open the package and crumples it up, throwing it back onto the table. Reaches down and slowly rolls the condom onto him, allowing her fingers to linger, just long enough to have him shuddering. 

“Don’t be a tease, sweetheart.”

“You like it,” she counters and though he scoffs, he can’t quite hide the glimmer of amusement in his eyes.

Finished, she lifts her hips and begins to remove the underwear, opting to try and use both hands, hoping she can keep her balance. Gets them half-way down before she nearly loses it and has to lunge forward, hand curling into his shoulder as she fights to keep herself from plummeting right off the side of the bed. His laughter is instantaneous and loud and she throws him a glare, cheeks burning, which only serves to make him laugh _harder_. “Oh, hush, or I’ll just leave you here all night, alone!”

“You’d never do that to me and you know it, sweetheart,” he argues and damn him, but he’s right. She might tease or threaten mockingly, but she could never be that cruel — especially not when her own body is already shouting for an encore.

It takes a bit of maneuvering but, finally, she gets the underwear off and drops them to the floor, to join the little pile of clothes already there. Air, still warm but somehow cooler than her own heat, ghosts along her center and it leaves her dizzy, head spinning. His eyes sweep over, lingers on a few select bits, and he wets his lips, clearly enjoying the view.

She smiles, tipping back before asking, “Am I to your liking, Specialist Agent?”

“Oh trust me, _Detective_ , you never disappoint me,” he purrs and that familiar ache returns, building between her legs and spurring her forward. “Come on, sweetheart,” he coaxes and she is helpless to fight against her draw to him, pulled in like a moth to a flame.

She scoots up and as he brings his legs closer in, straddles his lap. Drops a hand from his shoulder and reaches down between them, taking him in hand. Slowly, she lifts her hips and lines herself up, then sinks down. Lets him slide into her, body pliant and always so eager to accept him, and oh, _oh_ , the sound he makes is enough to almost drive her over the approaching edge.

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” he groans, hands curling back into fists, and she can see the muscles in his arms, prominent as he strains, wanting so badly to touch her.

Cordelia pauses, rolls her hips, and hears him hiss. “Sweetheart, you — ” whatever he might have said is abandoned, melting away into a low growl as she falls, taking him in completely, and this time, their moans intertwine, filling the room around them. 

Time seems to slow, crawling by, and she leans forward. Winds her arms around his neck and he kisses her, soft and lazy, and she opens her mouth for him, whining as his tongue slithers inside and claims her own. Rears up and drops back down, hips rocking into him. Mason snarls, muffled, and she swallows it, makes it a part of herself. He nips at her bottom lip and she gasps, shivering.

“You feel so fucking good,” he mutters, lips brushing against her own with each word, and his nose nudges hers as he tilts his head, mouth creeping toward her neck, “always so fucking tight, driving me crazy.”

He sketches a trail of warm, wet kisses across her throat and she presses closer, turns her head to allow him better access. “Mason, _yes_ ,” she pants and he thrusts up, bucks into her, and the action sends a fresh wave of fire racing through her, flames flickering just under her skin. “Oh, fuck, baby, just like that,” she babbles, white haze creeping along the fringes of her mind, slowly engulfing her senses and rendering her incoherent.

Right now, there is nothing but him, her — _them_.

Teeth sink into her throat, hard enough to bruise, and she lets out a cry, hands tangling themselves in his hair. He doesn’t break the skin — isn’t willing to do that, not yet, not after the last time — but there is a sting, one that her mind is quick to morph into pleasure, and her cry becomes a moan, high and insistent. “ _Mason_ ,” she sighs and pivots her hips, full of him but craving more.

His tongue rolls over the mark, an echo of her own action earlier, and she knows it will be utterly impossible to hide, but she is used to it; doesn’t truly mind, likes being able to see the little mementos he leaves on her skin, reminders of what they share.

“Cordelia,” he whispers, mouth pressed into the curve of her neck, and the way he says her name causes something to stir in her heart, delicate and raw. Mason is not a religious man, but he utters her name with such reverence, faithful and adoring, that she thinks it was meant for his lips alone.

Her hands slide up, into his hair, and she tips his head back. Kisses him, earnest and insatiable, pours all that she can into him. He meets her wholly and in this, they are not two but one; body and soul, entwined and synchronous.

Another jolt of his hips and she breaks the kiss, moaning brokenly, pressing her forehead against his own. Her own movements are increasing in speed, shaking atop him, and she meets every thrust, desire coiling deep in her stomach, constricting and it would all be so perfect, so _right_ , except…

With a frustrated huff, Cordelia stills and pushes away from him, arms reaching behind her, awkwardly fumbling for the clasps of the top — who the hell thought it would be a good idea to put hooks on this thing, anyway? — lets out her own growl, fingers slipping against the metal.

“I’d offer to help, but I’m a little tied up at the moment,” Mason jokes, laughter clear in his tone, watching as she fights with the gown.

“Oh, real funny,” she snaps, feels one of the clasps let go, and sets to work on the other one, “just give me a second, this thing is driving me insane, I can’t — ah, finally!”

She gets it off, yanks it up and over her head, only to throw it over her shoulder and onto the floor. If she weren’t so focused on the relief of having it off, she might have taken a bit more care — it _had_ been expensive, after all — but, at the moment, she can’t bring herself to care.

“Fucking finally,” Mason grunts and before she can respond, he is dipping forward, forcing her to bend back. The angle is awkward, and his reach is limited, but he makes it work — he is nothing if not determined. Closes his mouth around one of her breasts, teeth grazing the nipple, and she trembles, an electric tingle skittering along her body, straight down to her toes and they curl.

She grinds into him, rolls her hips, and he meets her with the same intensity as she rides him. Mason’s thrusts are starting to turn harsh, volatile, and she revels in the ferocity of it. “You feel amazing,” she moans, braces a hand against his chest — slides it under the crystal, cool against her searing flesh — and uses the other to gather up all of her hair, throwing it over her shoulder, a cascade of red waves down her back. “That’s it, _fuck_ , you feel so good inside of me.”

His growl is like thunder, sudden and rumbling, and his mouth leaves her breast. Trails up, tongue licking a stripe between the slopes of her breasts and back to her neck, to the faded scar that refuses to leave entirely.

“You look so good on top of me, Starlight,” he moans, lips and teeth working in tandem to leave marks on every inch of skin he can reach, relics of his presence that she will carry with her. “Touch yourself for me, sweetheart.”

Oh, she very nearly comes right then. His words send desire zigzagging through her, sparks across her nerves and she vibrates, body alight and humming. When her arm falls, hand gliding down her stomach and between her thighs, it quivers. The first brush of her fingers against her clit is like a shock and Cordelia cannot stop the mangled cry that falls from her lips. 

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he purrs, dark eyes traveling over her figure, keen and voracious, from her face to her fingers and back, unwilling to miss a single moment. “Are you thinking about me touching you? My fingers inside that wet cunt, fucking you until you come undone?” 

She gasps, swirls her own fingers around her clit in hurried circles, and leans forward. “Yes, _fuck,_ Mason, yes,” is all she can manage to say, eloquence long since forgotten. There is no room left in her mind for words, it is occupied only by desire and thoughts of him, of what he could do to her, of what she _wants_ him to do to her.

Lips press a gentle kiss to her forehead, scorching like a brand, and she whines, swaying against him. She is close now, that tight sensation growing, fiery tendrils extending through every inch of her, and it feels as if she is floating, feet dangling just at the edge of a precipice.

Mason kisses her cheek, the corner of her mouth, and each one sets her aflame, blood singing in her veins, a siren call she is powerless to resist. “Come on, Starlight, just like that,” he whispers, velvet and honey, voice gliding over her like satin. She bites her lip, tries to stifle a moan, and can hardly control herself, frenetic in her need. 

“I know you want to come, sweetheart,” he coaxes, lips close to her ear now, and they ghost over the shell, teeth nipping and she shudders, whimpering. “You want to come for me, don’t you? Become a beautiful mess in my lap, thinking about my hands all over that stunning body of yours, my cock inside of you.”

He emphasizes the last bit with another hard thrust of his hips and she feels his lips curve into a smug smirk against her cheek when she cries out, arm curling around his shoulders. Tangles her fingers through those black locks and holds on tight. Uses him as an anchor, a port in this growing storm brewing inside of her, between them.

Pulls herself as close as she can, bodies flush together, and draws in a deep breath, his scent settling over her — sandalwood and pine and yes, just underneath, a hint of lavender, and it makes her smile, knowing that a little bit of her lingers on him. 

“I’m so close, love,” she tells him, and oh, she is, that tidal wave cresting within her, building momentum, rising higher and higher. “Mason, _please_ , I can’t — ” the rest of the words are drowned out, smothered by the white haze overtaking her.

“Then don’t, sweetheart,” he tempts, drawing her closer and closer to the end, “just let go, come for me.”

And so, she does.

One final, insistent swirl at her clit and she is ruined, pleasure battering her against her as the tide to a shore, violent and terrible and so very wonderful. Stars explode in her vision before it goes white and she shatters in his lap, back curved and head thrown back, nails scrambling for purchase at his shoulder. His name falls from her lips as if it were a litany, sacred and hallowed, and it is the only word left to her, the only one that matters.

Mason fucks her through it, best as he can, and carves a winding pathway of kisses over her cheek, down to her collarbone, murmuring praise and soothing words into her skin. She rocks into him, swaying, and fights to keep herself steady, fire roaring in her veins, a blaze that threatens to overwhelm her.

That tightness in her belly begins to fade, uncoils and eases into something that feels like contentment. She comes down from her high, body loose and light, head still swimming. Opens her eyes, blinks once, then twice, and adjusts to the warm, glowing light, little stars still dancing on the peripherals of her vision.

She lets go, body slumping against his own, and rests her forehead at his shoulder, breath coming in short, shallow bursts. Plants a kiss on his own heated flesh and then leans back, so she can look at him, gray meeting hazel. Grinds her hips into his own and knows that he will not be far behind.

Cups his face in both hands, fingers connecting the little pattern of freckles, and smiles. “Your turn, love,” she breathes and he groans, eyes fluttering closed as he fights to hold out as long as he can, stubborn as ever. “Come for me, baby, I want to make you feel good.”

“Always do, sweetheart,” he moans and yes, he is almost there — she can tell by the way his thrusts have become unstable, quick and urgent. Inside of her, his cock seizes, twitching, and a part of her, wanton and a bit reckless, wishes they had forgone the condom.

She wants to be full of him, utterly and completely.

When he breaks, it is sudden and violent. He surges forward, out of her hold and buries his face into the crook of her neck, teeth sinking into her flesh as the tempest rushes over him. There is pain, yes, but she endures it — relishes it, to be honest — and her arms wrap around his neck, holding him, allows herself to be a moor against the fearsome waves.

He growls, primal and dangerous, and she hears her name, spoken at her throat, fractured and keening. “I’m here,” she whispers, words muffled against his hair, and drops a kiss to the top of his head. Moans as his hips jerk up into her, riding out the last bit of his pleasure, and slowly, he begins to still.

Cordelia lets him go and he sinks backwards, leaning against the headrest, and her arms fall back to her sides. For a long pause, neither of them speak — content, instead, to bask silently in the afterglow of their shared love making. He stares at her, soaks in the sight of her, and grins, an expression that has a little bubble of joy erupting in her chest.

Returning the smile with one of her own, she reaches for him, lays her hands flat atop his abdomen and leans forward, kissing him. It is soft, relaxed, and when she pulls away, there is a hint of wonder in his gaze, a look that makes her heart sing. 

“Hey,” she whispers, nose bumping against his, and when he chuckles, she feels giddy.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he says, gentle and quiet, and kisses her again. Breaks apart and glances up, quirking an eyebrow. “Mind getting these things off? My arms are killing me, and I’ve about had my fill of this whole ‘not touching you’ thing.”

“Mmh, I was just thinking the same thing,” she laughs and eases off of him slowly, taking care with her movements. His cock slips out of her with a faint _pop_ and it is strange, the sudden feeling of emptiness. Climbs off the bed, feet hitting the plush carpet, and stands, legs shaky. Already, she can feel the remnants of her own arousal dripping down her legs and she takes a stumbling step toward the nightstand, grabbing the small silver key sitting next to her lamp.

Returns to her spot on the bed, slots herself between his legs, and leans in. One by one, she unshackles him, the cuffs falling from his wrist and sliding down the posts, clattering against the wood. “There we go!” She exclaims, pulling back and watches as he lowers his arms, hands rubbing at his wrists. “Are you okay? I know you said they weren’t too tight, but — ”

He cuts her off with a hand at her waist, fingers curling along her ribs. “I’m fine, sweetheart, trust me,” and of course she does, there is so much affection in his tone that it surprises even her. Mason lays his other hand atop her leg, draws little circles there, and each one sends a tiny eruption of heat dancing along her skin. 

“I’ll admit, I wasn’t too keen on this little idea of yours at first,” he starts and tips forward, lips inches from her own, and adds, “but I think you won me over, in the end.”

When he kisses her, she melts into it, presses closer and opens her mouth for him. His tongue ensnares her own and she moans, hands sliding up over his chest and curling around his neck, fingers toying with wayward strands of raven hair. This is, she tells herself, the best part — how easy it is to simply _be_ with him, to give themselves over to one another completely.

A part of her thought this day would never come, that he would, like so many others in her life, slip through her hands and be lost to her forever. But he is stubborn, as she is, and here they stand, together, the promise of an eternity wrapped around their fingers.

It is a need for air that makes her pull apart from him and her smile is wider, unable to contain herself. “What say we take a bath? I think we could both use one,” she muses and begins to peel away from him. Has one leg over the edge of the bed before hands, strong and quick, grab her waist and yank.

She lands on her back with a _very_ undignified squeal and, in a flash, Mason is looming over her. Legs on either side of her, crystal dangling from his neck and glinting in the soft twilight of her room, hair hanging around his face. Cordelia blinks up at him owlishly, mind scrambling to make sense of what just happened and mouth gaping.

He studies her with a grin that is downright wolfish, eyes looking every bit like an oncoming storm, and chuckles. “I’m not quite done with you yet, sweetheart,” he snarls and oh, that voice is enough to almost break her entirely, a fresh flood of head racing straight to her core. “Seeing you on top of me,” he continues, bending down and nuzzling the curve of her neck, “riding me, getting yourself off, do you have any idea what the fuck you do to me?”

“Mason — ” her words dissolve into a strangled moan as a hand slides up, over her abdomen and covers her breast. He rolls the nipple between the pads of his index finger and thumb, tugs in a way that has her whining, arching into his touch.

The mouth at her neck moves, a trail of wet kisses left in its wake, and when it closes around her other breast, the wail she releases is absolutely pathetic. “ _Mason_ , I — ” but whatever she is, whatever she means to say, turns to ash on her tongue, too lost in a haze of fresh arousal. His other hand joins the fray, ghosts over her thigh and slips between her legs, and when the first finger dips along her folds, she practically launches herself off the bed.

Everything is still so raw, tender and aching, and she grasps at the sheets, bunches them in her fists, and writhes under him. “Fuck,” she gasps and hears him chuckle, mouth still locked at her breast. “Mason, I can’t, I just…” she loses her train of thought as another finger slips into her and her body, a traitorous thing, accepts him eagerly. He eases inside of her, up to the knuckle, and curves his fingers, a moan rising in her throat and spilling out of her before she can even think to stop it.

He leaves her breast, works his way down, and then he stops, chin resting atop her sternum, looking up at her through dark lashes. “You’re still so wet,” he murmurs and she groans, legs twisting, every inch of her howling in need. “Did you really think I was going to let you get away, without having a taste?”

“I — I gave you a taste, earlier,” she argues, face flushing at the memory, and he scoffs, warm breath sending a ripple of goosebumps prickling along her skin.

“That was hardly a taste, more like a damn sample,” he counters and then his moving again, body shifting down, sliding off the bed and onto his knees. He takes a moment to remove the condom, tossing it into the small trash can she keeps near her nightstand, and then his attention is back on her. She is tugged down after him and she knows what he is about to do, it has happened countless times, but oh, _oh_ , nothing can ever truly prepare her for the feel of his mouth on her cunt.

She wails, a broken and sharp thing, and her hands leave the sheets, find his hair, weave themselves through the dark strands and hang on tight. His tongue parts her folds and the finders inside of her, never once faltering, spread, and she feels herself hurtling toward that edge yet again. “Oh, fuck, _yes_ ,” she urges, rolls her hips toward him, and lifts her legs. Drapes them over his shoulders, heels digging into his lower back, and digs in.

A third finger slides into her, easy as can be, and lips close around her clit, his tongue pressing hard against it. Cordelia feels, suddenly, as if she is fracturing, coming apart at the seams, and oh, but it is glorious. He fucks her, fingers and tongue working in perfect unison to destroy her. 

His mouth leaves her, dots featherlight kisses along her thighs, drags a fang along the skin, and says, “Are you going to come for me again, Starlight?”

The mewl she lets out is high-pitched and filthy, a sound that would, at any other time, be utterly embarrassing — but this isn’t any other time, this is now, and all she wants is for him to keep going, to have that tongue back at her center and joining those deft fingers in unraveling her.

“Talk to me, sweetheart,” he urges, mouth so devastatingly close to where she wants it to be and she tries, truly she does, to move his head, to bring him back, but he won’t budge.

“Mason, _please_ ,” she cries, tears stinging the corner of her eyes, and her hips roll up, seeking him of their own accord. “Please, _fuck_ , I want to come, please, just let me come,” she pleads, dignity gone, thrown out the window and forgotten entirely. 

All she wants is more, more, _more_. 

Cordelia thinks she hears a faint _good girl_ , but then his mouth is back to work, tongue dipping between the slick folds and all she can is scream, the sound bouncing off the walls of her bedroom. It seems to please him because he speeds up, thrusts turning harsh and she _feels_ him growl, devouring her as if she were his last meal.

Vision going white at the edges, she knows she won’t last much longer — hopes, at least, that he will take pity on her — and she lifts up, tries to rock into him more, but the hand at her breast slides down, curls around her hip, and pins her down, locking her into place.

“ _Mason_ ,” she whimpers and his only response is a low snarl, a clear warning that she shouldn’t try and move away, that he is the one calling the shots now.

He takes her clit in his mouth, rolls his tongue over it, and when those fingers bow up, she goes soaring. Plummets right over that edge and into the chasm. Goes taut and with a strength that shocks even her, rises off the bed despite his hold, spine curving and head bent back, eyes squeezing shut. Behind her lids, thousands of little stars dance and for a brief second, she is blind, lost entirely to the pleasure.

Again, he fucks her through all of it, his mouth and fingers a tether, a port in the storm. She says his name, a personal mantra, pitch rising as the swell of bliss peaks and she goes crashing over it. Floats down, limbs languid and heavy, tingling in the best of ways. Her arms fall, hands folding together atop her stomach, and she fights to get her breathing under control, heart thundering in her chest. 

Mason pulls out of her and sits back on his haunches, mouth glistening with her wetness as he grins, expression far too smug. Lifts his hand, slick with her pleasure, and in a move she has come to expect, begins to clean his fingers. Her legs fall from his shoulders, hanging uselessly off the edge of the bed, and she watches him, dazed. 

“That,” he says when he finishes, pushes up and then leans over her, hands braced on either side of her head and lips mere inches from her own, “was a proper taste.”

Her flavor is rich on his tongue when he kisses her and she moans, weakly raising an arm to hook around his neck, pulling him closer. One of his legs slides between her own and when his knee brushes against her center, she breaks the kiss, gasping.

“No, Mason, I can’t,” she laments, voice cracking, “please, baby, I can’t.”

He hums, gives her a light little nudge, and then, mercifully, leaves her cunt be. “Whatever you say, sweetheart,” he whispers, tilts his head and traces his mouth down her throat, tongue running along the sweat-slick skin. “Should see yourself, Starlight, a gorgeous mess.”

“If I’m a mess, it’s your fault,” she retorts, fingers twirling a lock of his hair absently, and when he gives her shoulder a gentle bite, she snorts. “It’s true!”

“And don’t you forget it,” he states, a little too proudly, and oh, if he keeps kissing her like this, lips covering every patch of flesh he can find, she really will fall apart.

With every bit of willpower she can muster forth, she drops her hands to his chest and pushes him back. He humors her and raises up, brow raised. “After all of that, I _definitely_ deserve a bath,” she says and his laugh is easy, comfortable.

“Fine, fine, you’ll get your damn bath,” he grumbles, amusement clear in his tone, and he pushes off the bed, standing straight. Lifts his arms and stretches, giving her a nice view of his lean figure, and then looks down at her. “You coming?"

She wrinkles her nose up at him and shakes her head. “I don’t think I can even sit up, thanks to you,” she huffs and then puts on her sweetest smile, the one she _knows_ he can never deny, and raises her arms. “Carry me?”

Mason rolls his eyes, but she catches the way his lips twitch at the corner and he bends down, scooping her up into his arms. They are both sticky now, from sweat and exertion, but she coils her arms around his neck anyway and lays her head against his shoulder. 

“I could get used to this,” she teases and he grunts, heading toward the bathroom.

“You shouldn’t,” he deadpans and she giggles, only to feel her heart flutter when he presses a kiss to the top of her head. 

She is sore, and will no doubt regret this tomorrow when she is waking early for her flight, but as he runs a bath for them both, arm still hooked protectively around her waist, Cordelia can’t bring herself to care.

Tonight, she thinks, would surely be one they both remember fondly. 

**Author's Note:**

> If you made it all the way down here, then /you/ are the one who deserves kudos. This got away from it and before I knew it, I had 10,000+ words on my hands. I'm honestly torn on how I feel about it, and I'll admit I'm new to some of the things done in this fic, but I don't completely hate it and that's...something. 
> 
> I should also note that I've kind of gone the way of AU for my own personal canon; my Detective is half-fae. I'll be exploring this in my NaNo project (which is where the mysterious Rory will appear), but I wanted to include bits of it since it is now my canon. Hope you don't mind!
> 
> Kudos/comments are appreciated, and thank you so much for reading! <3 I'm also on tumblr, at elmshore, if you want to look me up.
> 
> (and yes there will be a part two, I'm sorry)


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